Mountain View
by KissTheBoy7
Summary: As it turns out, Freddie is scared of cable cars... Halfway down the mountain, his gets stuck. And Anatoly with him. Some Kings slash for my Chessloving friends. Anatoly/Freddie, oneshot.


**A/N: More Chessfic! Obsession is back in full swing. I hope you all enjoy my Kings-ified version of Anatoly and Freddie's ride down the mountain. :L**

Disclaimer: _Chess ain't mine, but it sure is great slash potential._

**Mountain View**

"I'm sorry, sir, but that's the last car for the night."

"Ah… that will do, then. Thank you."

Anatoly's heart sunk in his chest despite the polite smile that he'd slapped onto his face. He peered through the glass at the back of Freddie's head, dreading having to face him so soon after the argument he'd just uncomfortably witnessed. Florence had, apparently, opted to walk down the mountainside rather than be trapped in a metal car with the disgruntled Freddie hundreds of feet above the ground and Anatoly was tempted to follow her example.

Then again, he couldn't exactly trust himself alone with her now…

He wasn't a fool, or at least he was fairly certain that he wasn't. Anatoly knew that he had no defense, no rationalization for the way he had acted. What was he supposed to say? How was he to fend off the American's likely-to-be vicious attacks when he couldn't even make it right in his own mind?

He had a wife. He had two children. And all three of them were back in Russia, unaware of what he'd done and how he'd betrayed them. Like it or not, Freddie had given him a second chance. He could forget about all of this. Win his game and go home. Hell, he'd settle for losing and going home- he just wanted to go _home_.

As it was, he had no choice but to board the car. He had a game to be at in the morning and it wouldn't be long before Molokov got antsy about his whereabouts and went searching. The woman gave him an apologetic smile and directed him inside. As he stepped off of the platform and into the car, the Russian felt distinctly as though he was damning himself.

Freddie's icy blue eyes snapped to him almost immediately as he sat carefully in a seat on the opposite end of the car. Anatoly did his best not to second guess his decision not to take a stroll down the mountainside, wondering how Freddie managed to be so menacing when he was shorter and scrawnier than the Russian himself. Was it just because he felt guilty, or was Freddie's reproach really that formidable? The door shut behind him and he knew there was no turning back. He couldn't avoid that gaze forever…

"Come to gloat?" the American muttered, sounding exponentially more bitter than he had half an hour ago. Anatoly just barely managed to keep his voice level and unrepentant as he replied.

"I'm not trying to start any trouble." That much was true. He hadn't been _trying _to start anything, but when you were trapped in a sexless, distant marriage like his you tended to go a little stir crazy. He held up his open palms in a gesture of truce.

It was probably useless trying to maintain a façade of peace with Frederick Trumper, a man notorious worldwide for his callous disregard of etiquette, but he had to at least try. It was in his nature, and besides- the ride could take up to an hour. Every second was making it just a little bit more awkward and Anatoly was afraid that he would choke on it.

"Well. Maybe you should have thought of that before canoodling with my second behind my back." Freddie's tone was sharp and heated, like a white hot brand to his skin, and he couldn't help wincing at the jab.

"I formally apologize for my inappropriate behavior-" the curly-haired man began, stinted and distant, but try as he might he couldn't avoid Freddie's accusing gaze. His opponent didn't give him the time to finish, cutting him off as rude as ever.

"Shove it up your ass, Sergievsky," he spat, looking thoroughly disgusted. "Words are meaningless."

Beneath them, the car jerked into motion and began its descent down the mountainside. Anatoly prayed that the ride would have the mercy to be swift.

"In any case," Freddie was continuing, making a visible effort to seem unconcerned. "I intend to take my title tomorrow regardless of this outrageous display of disloyalty and sabotage."

In the back of his mind, Anatoly wondered if Freddie had any idea how transparent he really was. A brilliant player like him shouldn't be so ruled by his emotions, but that might have been what made him so challenging to play- and what made him so easy to hate, to hurt. However, Anatoly didn't hate him and he didn't want to hurt him. He just wanted to make it through this tournament and get on with whatever the hell his life was anymore.

"Good to know, then, that this won't affect our professional relationship," he said carefully, watching Freddie curiously for his reaction. The American stiffened and stared at him warily across the dimly lit car.

"We have no professional relationship." He narrowed his blue eyes. "The faster I win, the faster I can forget I ever knew you."

"Ouch." The Russian couldn't help half-smiling to himself in amusement, casting his dark eyes down at the car floor. He imagined that the faint tingling on the back of his neck was Freddie's attempt to burn through his suit with his eyes alone, but he comforted himself with the knowledge that every second brought him closer to the bottom of the mountain, and his hotel room bed.

A few moments passed in tense silence and Freddie stared out the window behind him, twisted halfway around to do so. His hands tapped anxiously on his thighs, thankfully distracting Anatoly from the uncomfortable sight of his opponent's nipples through his white t-shirt. The longer that Anatoly watched him the more he became aware of just how high strung that his opponent seemed to be. He'd never seen Freddie sit still for so long and it was obviously taking a toll on him.

Freddie's eyes were directed at the beautiful dusk scenery outside of the window, but he didn't seem to be seeing any of it. Instead he bit on his lip, fidgeting and breathing erratically, right on the verge of some kind of anxiety attack. Anatoly wondered if he would make it through the trip without a meltdown.

Knowing Freddie, even for a short time, it was unlikely.

He would have stayed silent and let it be, polite as ever, but out of nowhere the cable car jerked violently to a halt, throwing both of them out of their seats and onto the floor. As it swung- back and forth, back and forth- Freddie let a startled hiccup escape him as he braced himself on his hands and knees, back curved, looking frightened for his life.

It was only then that Anatoly remembered Florence's claim: Freddie was afraid of cable cars.

Damn it…

Sympathy and nothing more made him reach with one hand to clap the white-clad man on the shoulder in an attempt to soothe him. "Alright?" he asked, feeling extremely successful when he managed not to sound as tentative as he felt.

Freddie seemed unable to speak for a moment, his breaths coming in loud, uneven pants, but when he did find his voice it was nearly hysterical. "I'm perfectly _fine_." An octave higher than it should have been, it wouldn't have convinced anyone but maybe a deaf person. Anatoly let it slide. The Americans eyes were wild, his nostrils flared, and he looked ready to lose it. He didn't want to say anything that might set his opponent off.

Slowly, he withdrew his hand and drew himself into a sitting position. The swinging gradually slowed to a stop, but Freddie still looked pale and queasy. Well, this was just his luck. Still on the verge of divorce, halfway down a mountain and the car decided not to work anymore. Anatoly waited a decent number of minutes before he tried speaking to Freddie again, dark eyes scrutinizing the scrawny form of the American while they wouldn't be noticed.

"You look sick." There was no way to say it tactfully. Freddie turned a weak glare on him, nothing compared to his usual venom, but that was probably because he was still paralyzed with fear.

"You look like a filthy communist, but you don't see me dicking around with you about it," he snarled in return. If Anatoly watched, he could see his chest rising and falling rapidly, his arms trembling as they held him up in a way that had nothing to do with his weight. Freddie wasn't nearly as hostile as he liked to appear.

If he were honest, Anatoly was actually a little bit worried about Freddie's mental health. For all the slander he endured, the claims that he was unstable, unhinged, unsafe, Freddie was normally much more put together. All it had taken was a cable car to pull him apart at the seams, and dangling so far above ground left him no possibility of escape. He was stuck with Anatoly and if he had seemed insane before, he certainly wasn't getting any saner like this.

"Is there anything I can do?" the RFussian asked, disregarding Freddie's crude political jibes with some trouble. He tried smiling to show that he was sincere, all the while cursing whoever was operating the circuit, but Freddie just gave a less than daunting sneer.

"Go back to Russia," he said bluntly, the trembling in his body actually visible now. Anatoly took pity on him then, sliding across the floor and grabbing his shoulders, forcing him into a sitting position with his back to the bench. The American looked ready to spit fire when he touched him but there was a grudging gratefulness in his blue eyes for the support. He didn't move away, and that was encouraging.

"Well, I seem to be just as trapped here for the moment as you are," the darker-haired man shrugged, slinging one arm around Freddie's shoulders after a momentary lapse in judgment and pulling him close. He could feel the shaking now and it only made him realize how scared Freddie must be, not only to be shaking so badly but to let Anatoly touch him at all. "So you're stuck with me."

He decided to disregard the odd urge to touch Freddie for now, pushing it to the back of his mind along with all of his other troubles- Svetlana, his kids, his life back in Russia. This was the kind of thing that he instinctively knew not to think too hard about.

The crooked grin on his face, for now, was genuine and he felt a spark of hope when Freddie turned to the side in a futile attempt to disguise his own smile, reflected in the dark glass of the windows for Anatoly to see. Perhaps there was potential for the two of them yet- although what kind of potential he was hoping for, Anatoly had no idea.

"I suppose I can tolerate you." Freddie hesitated before twisting back to look at Anatoly guardedly, slightly suspicious. "Trust is another matter entirely."

"I'm not asking you to trust me," Anatoly promised, tipping his head back against the seat behind him and closing his eyes. He snorted, strangely lighthearted. "What do you suspect me of, exactly? Am I going to stab you with the knife I don't have? Slip poison into the wine you're not drinking?"

The American was silent for a long moment. His eyes were hooded, long lashes shielding them from view as he ducked his head. Finally, he murmured in the most heartbreaking tone that Anatoly had never expected to hear out of his mouth, "You've taken my second already. There's nothing left to steal from me. My life? It's nothing."

Sudden guilt clawed at Anatoly's insides. He tried not to let it show on his face, but all he could think about now was his wife and Florence and Freddie, too, and how he'd come so close to destroying them all with his wayward thoughts.

He could still save his marriage, maybe, stop seeing the entrancing Hungarian woman- but he couldn't put Freddie's relationship with his second right again.

"I really am sorry," he said in a low tone, swallowing down the sick feeling that he'd done something irreversibly awful by kissing Florence at the inn. "If I could undo it, believe me…"

"If only." Freddie's laugh was more than a little dark, and his shoulders shook under Anatoly's arm. When the Russian glanced at him again he was horrified to see that Freddie was staring out the window, seeming either unaware or unconcerned that he was crying. "There seem to be a lot of those in my life."

"I'm sorry." Anatoly was beginning to feel like a broken record. He tightened his arm around the American slightly, offering the only thing he could- his unspoken comfort. To his surprise, Freddie accepted it. He leaned his head on Anatoly's shoulder after hesitating for a split second, probably for all the right reasons, his hair tickling the Russian's chin. The air around them was still chilly but their sides, pressed together tightly, were warm as he took deep, calming breaths.

It was a while before either of them spoke again. Everything was silent, peaceful, almost unnaturally so- Anatoly had nearly forgotten that the cable car was supposed to be moving by the time that it started again. Freddie pressed his face to Anatoly's neck as the car jerked back into motion, unexpectedly cuddly, and he clung to the Russian's side until the swinging stopped for good and returned to the smooth gliding sensation that it was before.

"You're forgiven," he finally mumbled. Anatoly felt a surge of emotion as Freddie's lips moved over his neck, hot breath awakening not entirely unwanted responses in his body, but he pushed the thought out of his mind and made himself think instead about the fact that Freddie Trumper had just practically accepted his invitation of friendship. He didn't respond; it was hard enough to keep his hand from magnetting up to stroke over Freddie's short hair.

He could get away with everything so far, but that was just too intimate. He couldn't risk it.

Finally, Freddie removed himself from Anatoly and hopped back up onto the bench. He wiped his eyes and sniffled once, smiling shakily as he avoided his opponent's eyes, and Anatoly got up and dusted off as he sat beside him. Unbidden and unable to resist another odd compulsion, he rested a hand on Freddie's white-clad knee. "So. The match will continue?" he heard himself ask.

"As I said before," the American agreed, nodding as he regained his composure. Anatoly didn't have the heart to tell him that he hadn't done a good enough job wiping the tear tracks from his cheeks. "Florence isn't enough to distract me. Chess has been my game for too many years."

"Mine, as well." Starting to enjoy their newfound camaraderie, Anatoly reluctantly removed his lingering hand from Freddie's knee when the other man gave him a questioning stare. "Maybe…" He paused, wondering if this was some forbidden territory that he shouldn't be breaching, but decided for once to be impulsive. Maybe Freddie's presence was influencing him. "We should play again sometime. After the tournament."

The American arched one brown eyebrow, beginning to smile- again with the encouraging smiles, it was driving Anatoly up a wall and he had no idea why. Was Freddie being suggestive? Was he crazy and perverted for even wondering about that?

God, just being around Freddie was enough to send him to hell.

"Maybe we should do that," he murmured, leaning slightly towards him, and Anatoly was helpless not to lean in as well until their faces were uncomfortably close. He should move away, move away, _move away_ but then suddenly his eyes were closed and Freddie's lips were on his, surprisingly smooth and tasting of Chapstik and oh… This was wrong…

He should stop…

Freddie made a small noise in the back of his throat, practically straddling Anatoly's lap as he swiped his tongue along his lower lip.

Nope.

He wasn't going to stop.

But then the cable car is jerking one last time and they're both too startled to keep the kiss going, looking up only to realize that they're at the bottom of the mountain. Freddie scrambles away from him, getting to his feet and stumbling towards the door. Even without looking Anatoly can tell that he's bright red- hell, he can practically feel the heat rolling off of his cheeks across the car.

"Wait-" Without his permission, Anatoly's arm reaches out after his American counterpart but Freddie doesn't turn. Another smiling woman is opening the door and gesturing for him to step out and he loudly says, "I had f- er- I mean- Nice view, huh?" He gave a nervous chuckle and for the second time Anatoly felt his heart sink, this time for an entirely different reason than the last.

"Yeah… Nice view." The Russian smiled halfheartedly as he stepped out after him. Freddie was already meters ahead of him on the footpath back to the hotels and he knew that he wouldn't be able to catch him if he tried. Not only was Freddie quick to begin with, he had the advantage of panic on his side.

Actually…

Anatoly's smile widened as the realization hit him.

He could get under Freddie Trumper's skin.

That would be really useful in the game tomorrow…

And maybe, hopefully, he would be able to use it in many less official matches left to come


End file.
